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<title>what i got for you ain't just a toy by StrangeHormones</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28127082">what i got for you ain't just a toy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeHormones/pseuds/StrangeHormones'>StrangeHormones</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>kinky christmas twenty-twenty [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Boy (2016 Bell)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Somnophilia, Strip Tease, Voyeurism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:48:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>559</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28127082</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeHormones/pseuds/StrangeHormones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>brahms heelshire x reader | strip tease</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brahms Heelshire/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>kinky christmas twenty-twenty [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040285</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>what i got for you ain't just a toy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>@horrorslashergirl, day fifteen. i really like this one guys. i would write the sexy part in the future but i like this…</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s different now. You’d seen glimpses of strong shoulders and dark curls, felt large hands wrap around your skin on sleep heavy nights. The doll is not Brahms, it is the lure. It makes your trust, makes you feel safe, it makes you feel important until he needs you in a way that can no longer come from such a childish conduit. It’s different because the game has changed. The day is for schedules and lessons, things he needs to feel a part of the world, and nights become something else, something that connects him to the man he must truly be. He never takes though, never more than you give. His fingers would explore your skin but they never probed farther than the barest tips beneath the fabrics you’re sure he’s stolen but never watched you remove. <b><br/>
</b></p><p>Until tonight. You swallow hard, letting out a long shaky breath. The dim lamplight outlining you just right, just the way you practiced. There’s just enough of the haunting melody escaping from the radio speakers to make closing your eyes worthy of doing. If you couldn’t see, you couldn’t think. Just feel, just touch and fall into the moment. </p><p>This exhale is a bit former as your arms sway, your hips beginning a jerky rhythm to join them. There’s no rush, you have all the time in the world, it may even all be for naught. The music dips and seems to take your mind with it, you can feel the cardigan falling from your body. The way the fabric slipping across your skin makes you shiver, the quiet sound it makes upon landing, but you don’t explicitly remember taking it off. Your fingertips dance along your newly exposed skin, feeling somehow foreign when they curl in the flimsy shirt and eased it from your frame, your lower half circling as your legs raised and lowered you in waves. You skitter across lace strained nipples, eager and needy but you ignore them, pushing onward down the plain of your stomach, a thumb hooking briefly in the front belt loop of your jeans. </p><p>You truly had expected to get farther, both large hands clasp over your wrists, easing your hands to his shoulders before slipping over your hip. He doesn’t still them, you don’t dare to open your eyes, not even a peek. Even when he undoes the front of your pants and drags them down your leg, ragged breaths thunderous in your ears. He explores your skin as you sway, in the matching bra and panties you had been forced to hide beneath the floorboards to keep them from his sight, breath catching when your nails dig into the thin fabric of his own cardigan. </p><p>The can’t stop the breathy giggle that falls from your lips, the one that makes him rise to his feet and loom over you, “I thought you’d be good at taking,” blocking the light filtering through your eyelids, reminding you it’s a dangerous game you’re playing.</p><p>“I don’t have to take,” his voice so different, it makes your legs tremble, nipples pebble, a bonfire blooms between your thighs, “You’re mine,” his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek, the softness in harsh contrast to the almost violent way he pulls you against him, “Let’s play a game.”</p><p>You expect this game will be much different too. </p>
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